


A Home

by Attaining



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Family Bonding, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happily Ever After, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Romance, Siblings, idek just processing, post-8.03, post-8.04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Some stand alone responses to 8.03.Ch 1: Theon lies in the godswood, but he is not alone. Fix it. Theon/Sansa, Theon/Robb (brief)Ch 2: Robb and Theon reunite in the afterlife. Throbb.Ch 3: The Stark siblings gather to honor Theon. (Implied Theon/Sansa, Theon/Jon, Theon/Robb)Ch 4: Jon's battle with Euron takes a turn for the worse. Theon rises again, harder, stronger. Fix it. Jon/TheonCh 5: Sansa and Yara mourn. Theonsa implied. Set during 8.04, canon compliant.Ch 6: Arya and Sansa prepare Theon's body for the pyre.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I can't even handle 8.03. I was so unsatisfied that they took the predictable route without giving Theon more meaningful scenes in 8.01/8.02 and I really needed a character who suffered so much to get his happy ending. 
> 
> I don't have Twitter or Tumblr so this is the only place I can commiserate! ;__; And fic is the only way to fix this! I'll probably be dropping very unbeta'd fix-its here until I am emotionally chill again. XD; I hope everyone else writes lots of Theon somehow lives fic. XD
> 
> Warning: mentions of past sexual abuse, physical abuse, torture... because Ramsay.

He stared the Night King in the eye; eyes as ancient and cold as the North itself. He felt nothing but a searing so hot it was almost cold spread through his abdomen.

_You're a good man, Theon._

It meant something, to hear Bran say it. After everything he had ever done, after every wrong he had committed. He hoped somehow this might mean something, give them just a bit more time to get to Bran. Jon would. Arya would. Daenerys would.  _He's my brother. He has to live._

For the other brothers he betrayed and could not save, he had to live.

He did not notice the moment he fell to the ground, frozen solid under foot of the Night King, but he could die knowing he finally had done something right.  _I'm Theon._

He had no fear any longer, not of death, not after he had decided that doing what was right was the only way he could find out what it meant to be Theon again. 

Theon heard something shatter in the distance, like the ice of a river breaking apart. He could not see any longer, his mind floating on calm waters. I'm ready, he thought. 

"There you are, lad, up you go," a voice in the dark said. Someone took his arm and lifted him to his feet. He shook his head, blinking away the black. Somehow he did not hurt.

"Lord... Stark?" he asked, his voice faltering in awe. There he was, standing as though it were the last day he had seen him, handing him his riding gloves and sword as he left for King's Landing. Someone was calling his name in the distance, but he could not pay it mind when tears welled in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Eddard's smile was sad and he shook his head. "Come, son." 

He was a boy of eight again and he fell against Lord Stark, his strong arms wrapped around him, the way he had always imagined. A hand on his shoulder startled him and when he released Lord Eddard, it was the blue eyes of his oldest son Theon saw.  _Robb._

"Now and always," Robb said, squeezing his shoulder and pulling him into a gentle kiss. "Be the man I always knew you could be. It's not the right time. Treat her well." 

"But I've gone... I'm dead." Theon gaped at him, glancing at his body growing colder and colder beside them.

The sound of water took over the icy wind and his attention turned to the godswood hot springs. A dark figure rose from the steam. It was Death, and it was old. It was The Drowned God. "I have use for you yet. What is dead may never die."

"But rises again, harder and stronger," Theon finished. 

\--------

He woke with a gasp, his entire body shuddering in the cold. People were around him. He curled in on himself, coughing and sputtering against the chill.

"You're alive," Arya said, disbelieving, her hands touching the molted wound on his stomach where the spear pierced him. The splintered wood lay discarded next to her, along with his armor. He spit the blood from his mouth, but somehow he no longer bled. 

"Good," Bran said, in that way he did. Jon Snow stumbled next to him, blood and grime covering every inch of him. He put his hands on Theon's face in wonder, glancing at Arya and Bran. "It's warmer, inside. We should gather the survivors." 

\-------

Many had died. Most, had died. Even in the crypts, they were attacked, he heard tale, in and out of his dreams. Brienne of Tarth shared the room with him, reluctant to stay in bed despite the severity of her wounds. Jaime Lannister would argue with her, and she would return to her bed. Theon pretended he heard nothing. 

_I'm Theon._

"I thought you were dead," Sansa said when he finally woke. Tears were in her eyes, such beautiful blue eyes she shared with her brother.  _Robb._

"Sansa," he said, reaching for her, voice rasping from disuse. His gloves were gone, but he did not mind. She was alive, and that mattered more than anything else. "I saw Robb. And your father."

"He's your father, too, Theon," she smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "What did they tell you?"

"The Drowned God needs me. He saved me. But they said... they forgave me."

"Good," Sansa said, brushing the curls from his forehead. "Then it's settled. You've run into enough stupid battles to prove yourself a good man. You can be smarter now." 

"Sansa... can I stay?" It was a foolish question, but he needed to hear it, the way he needed to see Robb again. The way he needed a father's love his whole life. The way he wanted someone to notice him, not as the little unwanted one, not as the ward, not as the turncloak, but notice _him._ Theon. 

Her smile was warmer than summers past. "Theon, this is your home. You will stay as long as you like."

"With you."

"I felt so useless in those crypts. I wanted to do something, anything to help. I thought I might die actually using a dagger. What would mother say?" She shook her head, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. "I decided something, after speaking with Tyrion. I decided that I wouldn't let you go again." 

He stared at her, remembering everything that had happened between them. He remembered the girl she was, the woman she became, the Queen she would one day make. He did not deserve her, but he would give her everything left of his wrecked body and soul. He had always wondered what it would be like, to have a home. She held his hand in hers and smiled at him. _This is what it feels like._

"Then it's decided. I'm home." 


	2. Robb/Theon: Afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Theon reunite in the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters stand alone.
> 
> Shout out to all the Theon fans grieving right now. Thanks for everyone's commentary, love for the char who was often dismissed by other fans, and of course your fan art and fan fic. I stumbled into this fandom a year ago after losing fandom for a decade, and ya'll are wonderful to watch. 
> 
> I hope some short Throbb happily ever after in death soothes some of the burn.

He turned around and around, unable to understand. Death and darkness were gone; there was only the summer of his youth before the weirwood tree. 

"Lagging as always," a familiar voice said. Theon could not move, not at that sound.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. What does a man see when he dies? Theon had imagined nothing at all, not even blackness."How--"

"You know how, Theon," Robb said, even and warm, as he stood beside Theon in his king's armor. "Did you ever think we'd be dead? I thought we'd always live. The thoughts of a boy. I didn't expect it when it came for me. But you, you were brave. You faced it, charged at it, stared it in the eye. I'm proud of you."

The words washed over him, like Bran's words had, like Sansa's embrace, like Jon's forgiveness. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. "You... you came for me." 

"You forgot for a while, but I never did," Robb laughed, turning toward him. His red curls swayed in the breeze, his blue eyes were just the way he remembered them, before the war. Before everything went wrong. Robb's hand was warm as it touched his neck, fingers stroking him gently along his jaw. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Robb Stark. When he could not have him, he took his home. 

"Robb, what I did, everything, I'm so sorry. For all of it. I'm--" Theon felt the fool, like he had standing before Yara, words tumbling from his lips in a rush, having never thought he would see Robb again. He wanted to tell him everything. How much it meant to save his sister. How grown Sansa had become, how strong and fierce. How Bran was wiser than them all. How little Arya was the best warrior in Westeros, like they always thought she might be. How Jon was just as miserable as always, and three times as honorable. How Rickon never had a chance. Robb would not let him. He pulled Theon into a long embrace, firm and steady. 

"I told you, now and always. Of course I came for you, you ass." 

He could not stop the sob that came from deep in his chest, his body drawing the sorrow from him as he melted into Robb's embrace, laughing between gasping breaths. "I was a right ass, wasn't I?"

"The worst," Robb said, holding him tighter.

Then Theon released him, taking his face between his two broken hands. He searched his eyes, praying to any god he could name it was real. Say it was real. "I missed you. I've missed you more than the skin I lost, the parts he took; I missed you more than the sea and the bow. I missed you every day. I love you, you honorable fool."

More than anything, he had missed the smile Robb gave him now. "I know. You made it right, and now you're here. I love you. I have since I was a boy. Your japes and grins, the way nothing touched you and the vulnerable heart you pretended you did not have. I never thought I would recover when I heard you had taken Winterfell, and in truth, I never did. I thought I would yell at you some, thrash you a bit, maybe try to hate you. Then I saw you, I saw you with Bran. I saw you and I could not see you hurt again. So I came for you."

"Then I can stay... with you?" he asked, a fluttering in his heart he had not felt in years. "At your side?"

"I don't know. I don't know what comes next, so kiss me now before there's no time." 

So he did, Robb's lips soft against his. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, pressed together, moving together. It felt right. It felt like home. It was these lips he thought of when he first met Ros. It was these lips he longed for in the dungeons. The kiss was chaste, shy even, so unlike his dreams of Robb, hot with boiling need. After an age, they parted. Theon looked around, waiting for something to happen. A minute passed, then another, his hands in Robb's. And nothing. 

After another beat, Robb snorted and laughed. Theon stared, confused, before he finally felt a grin on face. "You had a go at me, Stark."

"Could you blame me?" Robb asked, gallant and fair. He wrapped an arm around Theon's shoulders and kissed his unruly hair. "Together. Now and always, Theon. That oath bound us together, even in death. Now come home with me."

"Home," Theon agreed.


	3. Memorial: Starks/Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark siblings honor Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really affected by Theon's death and for as many problems I have with GoT and its lack of sensible plot (aka everything about the rest of 8.03), to be so affected by a character is good TV. It's easy to give Theon happy endings when he's alive on the show; the brutal reality of death makes that harder. Even people who deserve happy endings don't get always get them; but that's why we have fiction, to fill that need. We've all done someone else wrong. We've all suffered loss, family difficulties and confusion about who we are. Many of us have been abused. Seeing Theon come back from all of that speaks to a lot of people. Seeing others love Theon despite his errors and after his trauma makes us remember that we can be loved. Giving Theon happy endings despite all the torture some of us (ahem me) love putting him through fills a big emotional need. That there can be pay off for surviving suffering. That suffering for suffering's sake doesn't need to be the end, that life can be more. I think the character was okay with his death; he ran at it bravely after having been denied it so long. He even likely drowned from blood filling his lungs, a true cumulation of his identity as Stark and Greyjoy. He got validation from those he always desperately wanted validation from and that was enough, I think, for him. But it wasn't enough for me. I wanted Theon to die with a healthier view of himself. I wanted to see him bravely learn to love himself when he finally realized that outside validation or forgiveness was not enough to overcome shame. Vulnerability, acceptance, and reckoning with yourself is the bravest work we have in life. It's work that I struggle with, and it's hard to see someone who has gone through so much end without that. Without that bit of a escapism we all have to go back to doing our own work. Crap. But I want to write a bit more, celebrate what could have been with the mold canon gave us. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk. XD;
> 
> Anyway, here are the Stark siblings honoring Theon. Sorry for so many posts, the feels are real.

She pulled her cloak closer as she carefully tread down the steps of the crypt. It was still hard to be here, after the night Sansa spent waiting and waiting, then fending off her own ancestors. But she would not let her family’s graves be dishonored this way, not now.

Arya walked quietly at her side, Jon steps behind them both. Bran had declined, after all, he had already seen it.

“When Theon was two and ten, he told Robb that they would be at each other's side, even in death. They were brothers." 

So it was. They stopped before the statue, a face she now held so dear to her heart. 

"He's got the best looking one," Arya noted with a snort. "Of course he did."

"Do you remember when he lost a month's allowance on Myrish silk? He threw the biggest fit I had ever seen," Sansa laughed, an almost unfamiliar feeling.

"That's because Ros wouldn't have anything to do with him until he got his coin back," Arya said with a smile. Arya always remembered things like that, the smallfolk other ladies would have forgotten. But even she remembered seeing Theon following at her heels, even outside the brothel. _He always liked red hair..._  "Then he tore his breeches in training and complained for a week they'd have to be mended instead of thrown out for something new."

"He was such a prim thing back then," Sansa replied, mirth in her voice. They had so many small moments together, even though she was always rather awful to him. He scared her, then. The ironborn ward, the awful things she heard about his people. She kept away from him, from his lecherous ways. Though in truth she could never recall a time he was dishonorable toward her, not until everything changed, anyway. Not until he brought that candle to Ramsay. But that was another man, wasn't it?

"But he was the best at the bow. I watched him for hours wanting to be that good." Arya lit a candle at his stone boots.

Jon finally said, "You put him next to Robb."

Sansa smiled at him. "It's what he would have wanted. The both of them, really."

"Even after...?" Arya started, looking at Sansa and Jon.

"Even after," Jon replied. "They loved each other. I was always jealous that they were thick as thieves. You did right by him, Sansa."

"He did right by us, in the end," Sansa said simply, looking up at Theon's stony face. They buried his bow and his armor; they gave his body to the sea with the other ironborn. The letter she penned to Yara Greyjoy was the hardest she had written after the war. "You were jealous because you loved him, too. You wanted him to look at you the way he looked at Robb."

Jon opened his mouth to protest, though he were still a boy, but instead he looked at the ground. It must irritate him that Sansa could read him so, after how miserably she treated him as a child. But Sansa often saw things she did not understand at the time that seem so obvious now.

"That's why you were kissing in the stables," Arya chimed in, a wicked smirk on her face. Sansa turned to stare at them in shock, her mouth in a wide 'o.' 

Jon looked absolutely flustered. "You weren't supposed to ever tell, Arya."

She shrugged. "Secrets are what tore our family apart. Duty, too. I lived a life in secret to survive. I don't want to do that anymore."

Arya, too, once had a little lady's fancy for Theon. He was a pirate, dangerous and adventurous... at least until she saw how he treated real ladies. Sansa smiled at them, her siblings. This is the way they should have acted as children. If only their parents could see them now. She looked back at Theon's face, wishing she could have seen him alive just once more. She wishes she could have told him. "I loved him."

She felt their eyes on her. "You don't know what it was like, with Ramsay. You didn't see Theon then. He was so broken, he had forgotten his own name. I thought I could never hate anyone as much as Theon when I thought he killed Bran and Rickon, when he didn't help me escape. But eventually, I knew what Ramsay was, what he was going to do to me. I was going to be just like Reek. But then he saved me. He wanted to lead the hunting party away, go back to Ramsay. Go  _back_ to that monster, so that I could get away. No one had helped me the way he had, without wanting something in return. My name. My body. It was the first time I had felt safe with anyone since I was a girl. I wanted to marry him, if we lived."

Arya looked at the ground, no doubt thinking of her blacksmith, the one she held the eyes of a little girl in love for. She said, earnestly, "I'm sorry. I wish I could have gotten there sooner."

"Arya, it's not your fault," Jon sighed. "It was Theon's choice to stand with Bran. He knew. Even when he was an arrogant ass, he still would have done it. I never believed he killed Bran and Rickon. I couldn't imagine it. He was a lot of things, but he was not a kinslayer. When I hung a boy younger than Bran, I learned. War turns everyone ugly." 

"Bran said that he didn't just save his brother, he said he saved the memory of the whole world. He told me that Theon was the last one standing. When he ran out of arrows, he took a spear and killed every wight that came near. It was only when the Night King came did he fall. If I hadn't been able to surprise him, if we had met face to face..." Arya said quietly. "We all would be down here."

"Do you think they'll meet again?" Sansa asked suddenly, the memory of that night too painful to bare another second. "Robb and Theon?"

"If Robb Stark would come back from where the gods sent him for anyone, it would be Theon," Jon said. Sansa knew he did not believe what he said. After all, Jon had died and there was nothing. But she loved him for saying it. 

"They were idiots," Arya said. "I miss them." 

"Our idiots. He's our brother," Jon said, and Sansa looked away to pretend she did not see the wetness in Jon's eyes. "He just forgot it for a while. Now he's home, with us."

Sansa smiled up at the stone face, ignoring the tears in her eyes. She said, "May the old gods keep you company until we join you."

As she turned to leave, she ran her fingers over the sigils she had etched on his bow: a kraken and a wolf.

"Come on, then," Arya said, Jon's hand on her shoulder. "You've got archery lessons, Lady of Winterfell."


	4. Jon/Theon: Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's battle with Euron takes a turn for the worse. Theon rises again, harder, stronger. Jon/Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before 8.04 so it doesn't really fit. It's not perfect, but I hoped Theon might come back as the Drowned God's champion. But then they didn't even send his body to the sea, ouch. >< I hope it helps with the sting of 8.04. Also apologies for anything wrong re: dragon horn, I have only read parts of the books (guess which parts).

Jon fell to the sand, the wind knocked from his lungs. He looked around wildly, crazed laughter above him.  _ My sword. Where is that fucking sword?  _ The water rushed in around him, finding any way to leak into his armor. He could see nothing in the sand and waves. He grunted when a boot connected with his side, tossing him on his back. Scowling, Jon stared up at Euron.  _ If we’d had more time to heal from the battle with the dead… I’d have gutted him by now.  _ But instead, the war had turned. It had been a trap. The Golden Company faced most of the remaining troops, but the Red Keep was abandoned. Jon had looked from the battlements to see Euron on the beach, waving something at him.  _ Drogon… Rhaegal… one blast and they’d turned. It was a trap the whole time.  _ They’d tried to get to him, but they were ambushed by Ironborn and surrounded. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Ned Stark broke the walls of my castle. It’s only fair you see me do the same to yours,” Euron grinned widely, the heel of his boot crushing Jon’s hand into the sand. 

He barked out in pain but calmed himself, spitting blood and staring back. The waves crashing to shore were almost enough to drowned out this sorry cur. “Is every Greyjoy such an ass? You never shut the fuck up.”

Euron leaned down, teeth sharper than his smile. He patted Jon on the cheek and yanked his head back by his hair. Fury raged in his belly, but exhaustion from battle after battle weighted him like stones.  _ Greyjoys like to hear themselves talk. Buy time.  _

“I’m hurt. How can you talk to me this way when we’re practically family? Our little Theon, before the cunt ran off to die, was your father’s trophy. Did Eddard Stark bugger him… or was it only you? I do feel I owe you some attention, on behalf of my dearly departed nephew,” Euron drawled, slapping Jon between his legs, gripping him hard, squeezing. His face burned. He would put out those eyes one by one. Finding his strength, he pounded his closed fist into Euron’s ear, causing the man to stumble. 

He only laughed when Jon struggled to his feet. “I owe you my gratitude. We really could be friends. Thanks to you, I’ve one less nephew to kill.”

“You’re mad,” Jon spat, realizing this man was no different than Bolton or any of the other scum that sought power over blood.  _ Theon never missed his brothers… if they were anything like Euron… _

He spied his sword in the surf, diving and rolling past Euron’s axe to snatch it from the sand. The world rocked and swayed; he was bleeding from his temple something fierce, but he had not the time to dwell on it before blades met again. He parried Euron’s blow, spinning them both round. His men pressed in, but none dared interrupt their mad captain when he sought blood. Their silence was eerie. 

Jon stepped back and his foot sank into a hole hidden by the water, trapping him. The more he pulled, the more he felt stuck. Cursing, Jon held the flat of his blade above him, blocking Euron’s axe with both hands.  _ If this sword were any but Valyrian steel…  _ He bared his teeth, the axe edging closer to his face. He could not hold out much longer… but then Euron’s gaze was no longer fixed to his. A look of confusion crossed his opponent’s face and he stepped back, releasing Jon from his attack. 

Gasping for air, Jon followed where Euron looked. The ironborn grunted and took hesitant steps back. Something was rising from the water. The shape looked almost human, but covered in kelp and weed. It raised a ghoulish hand and slowly pulled the green from its face. 

“Theon…” Jon breathed. But how? They had given his body to the sea with the other ironborn. He had seen the wound; he had pulled the spear from Theon’s lifeless body himself. After he thought he had shed every tear he had left for his brothers of the watch, he had sat vigil with Theon. He had waited until Sansa kissed his pale temple and fallen asleep at his side. He waited so that he could say goodbye to his brother, to the boy who had taken him inside the broken tower and made a man of him. 

“Nephew,” Euron started, bemused. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

Theon only continued his approach, seaweed dropping to the ground by the handful as he went. The ironborn stumbled back, fearful. Even they knew they were seeing a ghost. Theon met his uncle’s gaze. “What is dead may never die.”

“You? Am I supposed to believe my cockless nephew has come back to challenge me?” Euron laughed, gesturing wildly with his oversized axe. “You remember our nights together, Little Theon.”

_ Even Euron is unnerved,  _ Jon noted. He drove his sword into the sand, hoping to use the leverage to escape. The dragons wailed overhead, at Euron’s beck and call. Jon called out to Theon. “His men took the horn he used to control the dragons. We have to destroy it.”

Euron punched him soundly and he reeled back, stumbling to his ass. Jon’s boot finally came loose with a squelching sound, but Euron was already stalking toward Theon.  _ Dammit, that horn is the priority. What he’s always said about coming back harder and stronger had better hold true. _

Jon made for the men holding the giant horn, but the ironborn were freed from their stupor and descended upon him with axes and bows drawn. He thought he saw his death before his eyes when a deafening sound grew closer. Jon turned and a wave high as the walls of the castle crashed over the men, pulling them to sea. The rest of the ironborn dropped their weapons, looking to Theon. They parted from the dragon horn and Jon hacked away at it with his sword. The dragons wailed fiercely above him, freed from their spell and turned away. 

When Jon looked back to the Greyjoys, he saw Theon grab the handle of the axe and whisper something to Euron. Then, he kneed his stunned uncle in the groin. Doubling over, Euron gasped. Theon appeared as though he were going to raise his uncle’s own axe against him, but instead he threw it to the ground and stepped back. 

“You thought you were the storm, but the storm has come to claim you. The Drowned God has a place for you in his halls.” 

Euron looked up just before the sea rose and swallowed him whole. Jon looked to see the ironborn kneeling fist over heart.  _ They’re following Theon now. But is he…? _

Theon seemed to know his thoughts as he offered Jon a shoulder to lean on. “Yes, I’m here.”

“...You took your bloody time, Greyjoy,” Jon mumbled, collapsing into him, drawing him close, needing to feel that he was solid, warm. Theon wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. He smelled of the sea. Jon could not say how much time passed as he clutched to Theon, his world blanked in and out, but when he raised his head, Theon was still there. His blue green eyes held a sad smile; he wasn't sure this Theon could know joy the way he once had. They'd lain on the ground laughing like mad the first time they'd spilled together. But death be damned, they were both _here._ The bastard and ward at the end of it all. Cheering erupted from the castle and when they looked up, Daenerys, Arya and Sansa looked down at them. 

_ We won.  _


	5. Sisters: Yara & Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during 8.04. Sansa and Yara grieve for Theon. Canon compliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry, I hope this isn't getting redundant. I'm slowly coming to terms with Theon's death. ;____; Still had some grieving to get out with this one.

She stood in her chambers watching the fire, her wine glass emptied and refilled more times than she cared to count. Her chest was tight, her stomach twisted. Tears slid down her cheeks but she did not cry. She wondered if she could feel anything after what has been done to her. How many brothers would she bury? She wanted to send his body to the sea, but the men could not be spared. Sansa knew where they would all be heading.  _ Surviving death only to die in the south. What a horrid joke my life has become.  _

“I’m sorry,” Theon said, the tone he had used when he came back to her, steady, burdened. 

Sansa drank her wine, not moving. “You’re not here.” 

“That’s why I said it,” he replied. 

“I wanted to write your sister, but I don’t know what to tell her. You died the hero from the songs I used to sing. You saved Bran. He told me, you know, that you ran right at the Night King,” she shook her head as she spoke. 

“It was the right thing to do. For me.” 

“Stark men are stupid. It was fitting to give you that brooch.” She didn’t hide the bitterness. What was left of her tenderness burned with that body. Jon and Arya would both go south. She didn’t expect either to come back. She expected very little tonight. 

“Thank you, Sansa.” 

She laughed, a bitter sound. “For calling you stupid and burning your body? They wouldn’t even let me put you in the crypts. The Night King is dead but we have to burn everyone because there is no time to mourn any of you. We have to fight The Dragon Queen’s war for her!”

She spun to scold him, expecting him to stand there, his eyes wet with sorrow and he would hold her the way he did in the snow and ice. But there was nothing, just her empty chambers and the wind echoing through the halls. Her cup clattered against the ground and she fell to her knees clutching her middle. Pain crept in around the edges, but at her core, she was sure she was empty.

_ I could have had him at my side. I could have loved him. _

“And I could have loved you, my lady.”

Something shattered inside her, some great wall she had built and fortified since her father’s head left his shoulders. Her dream of love and a gentle, kind man to take her hand rose like everything else dead had, and she would have to kill it again. She gasped for breath between her sobs. Sansa cried for her family, for all that was taken from her, for all that was left behind. 

In the dawn, she would be the Lady of Winterfell. In the dark, she would let the little bird cry.

 

\-----

 

Yara stood in the halls of Pyke, her mind on a different box containing her brother.  _ Aye, but this will be the last piece of him the North sends home.  _

She had gotten him drunk before she sent him off. They had stumbled together to her cabin, his arm slung around her neck. 

_ “W-why’d you make me drink so much?” he groaned as he collapsed on the bed, falling back with his arms spread wide. Yara grinned down at him. He had turned down her offer to find him a companion for the evening, so she ordered him to drink until he started japing and clapping the men around him on the back. He had slurred with a lopsided grin, “You! You, Harrag, you’re… good. Best with an axe by far and prettier than Qarl. Tell them I said it, lads!”   _

_ Yara thought about addressing her boots, but she'd rather not fall in front of her little brother, drunk as she was. “You’re going off to die, little brother. You needed a proper taste of life before you went. It’s the first I’ve seen you smile and laugh.” _

_ “N-not gunna… not gonna die,” he mumbled, rolling over on his side and failing miserably at sitting up. He slid to the ground with a soft thump and leaned his head back, laughing at nothing. “What is dead can never die!” _

_ “Remember that when you’re bleeding for the Starks,” she said a shade too bitter, sitting on the ground with him, taking a skin of wine and prying off its cap with her teeth. “They always get you in the end.” _

_ He leaned his head on her shoulder, tipping back and looking at her. His hair had grown long and his sea green eyes were bright. “You’re my sister.” _

_ “Aye,” she snorted.  _

_ “You came for me. I didn’t deserve it, but you came anyway.” _

_ She took a drink and clasped his shoulder clumsily. “You’re my blood. I’ll always come for you. You came for me, too.” _

_ “Thank you,” he said, suddenly quiet. “Yara... I’m happy it’s you, who will rule. You’re fair and you’re strong. I wish…” _

_ She found it hard to swallow, so she drank until she was ready to listen again.  _

_ “I’ll come back to you, even if it’s in another box. I’ll come back. I won’t let you rule alone. I… you’re my family. I...” _

_ “Hush, little brother. I know. I know. Let’s sing to the Drowned God. Let’s sing so loud the dead hear us in His halls.” He grabbed the wine skin and tipped it back, lifting it as he began to sing. And Yara joined him.  _

They had sat for hours, singing every ballad and shanty they could think of, and making up a few, too. When she dropped her men ashore, they were the men who sailed with Theon to free her. They had told her of the nights he didn’t sleep, planning and looking for Euron. He worked harder than most of the men. On one unbearably hot day without an ounce of wind, they had convinced him to strip his shirt and tan his skin. When they saw what was done to him, not a single man could speak him ill. Five men, she would send with him. Twenty more had volunteered to die with him.

Carefully, she opened the silk the box was wrapped in, a token from The Lady of Winterfell. A kraken and a wolf shared the lid. She smiled, despite herself, running her fingers along the grain. Inside was an urn.  _ They burned you. Damn them.  _

Swallowing her anger, she pried open the wax seal, the letter penned in delicate loops. 

_ Lady Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, _

_I am grieved to write this letter. I have tried many times and failed to find the words. The Long Night is over. My own sister, Arya Stark, slayed the Night King. Your Dragon Queen lives. I have attached the names of as many of the fallen as I could, for the world must know how long they stood defending Winterfell against the enemy. The night was filled with the screams of the dead and dying, and they climbed over the walls of Winterfell, so great were their numbers. Without the ironborn, our history would be lost, and so too would have been the battle._

_ Know that although we have never met, we are sisters, for Theon was my brother, too. He was a quiet child when I was small, but he grew brash and confidant with my older brother Robb following at his heels. They were as deeply in love as two brothers could be. He always smiled, always japed. Every maid in Winterfell wanted him and likely had him. I have never seen a bowman so fine as Theon Greyjoy. The world will never see another like him again. When I was at my lowest, surely to die tortured and alone, it was Theon who saved me. I hold nothing but love in my heart for our brother.  _

_Know that he died well. He was brave. He faced death with a warrior’s cry. When he ran out of arrows, he slayed each dead man who threatened my brother with a dragon glass spear. He was the last of his men to fall, and it was the Night King himself who felled Theon. They have already made his name into song._

_ I must confess, we spent his last night together. He told me of you. He believed in you, that you would be a just ruler. Though he would not say such a thing, he loved you, just as I know that he loved me. Theon Greyjoy was a good man, and I am sorry that he died so far from your sea. _

_ Please forgive our disrespect of your funeral rites. The dead were piled by the thousands in great fire pyres that burned for half a day. The men could not be spared to return the bodies, even of great lords and ladies. I return the ashes of your men to you, for you to give them to your Drowned God. I will lay his bow to rest in the crypts beneath Winterfell, next to Robb. He will forever have a home in Winterfell. _

_ As a personal request, sister, when the wars are won, see me to Pyke so that I may meet you, and we can drink a toast to our gentle, stupid brother. He died as he wanted to live, as Theon.  _

_ Should you have need, House Stark stands beside House Greyjoy. Let the wound between our houses heal with Theon's death. _

_ Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell _

She ran the back of her hand across her face and breathed deep. Yara closed her eyes, remembering the little boy she played with on the rocky beaches, the small smile he gave her as they parted.  _ I’m proud of you, baby brother.  _

Yara gestured to her men. “Gather the Drowned Priest and meet at the shore. Tell the Islands they are to gather. The Drowned God has called their prince and his attending home.”


	6. For Luck: Arya & Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa prepare Theon's body for the pyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments are always appreciated.

"You should get on with it," Arya said and Sansa startled, releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding. Arya appeared out of nowhere, as had become her way.

Sansa examined her, guarded. Her words were clipped. "With what?"

"Cleaning his body," she replied evenly. Sansa followed her gaze to where the dead were laid in the Great Hall. Officers, lords, ladies--they were brought inside to shelter from the harsh weather. A thousand others would not receive such treatment, though Sansa noted they were no less brave and no less dead. The living would work tirelessly the next day building pyres and arranging the bodies. Many of the soldiers had collapsed in exhaustion; the wounded were treated by those kept safe in the crypts. And so the dead were laid for the night, and her ancestral home was filled with more ghosts from one night than the thousands of years it stood. Amongst them was...

"There's much else to do," She said, looking away. 

"I'll help you." 

Her throat tightened and she blinked back every ounce of care she managed to salvage from the girl she was. She met Arya's grey eyes and nodded.

The room was cleared and Theon was laid out on a wooden table, his face pale and greying. He was so cold with thick, dried blood trailing down his face from his parted lips. She had closed his unseeing eyes in the godswood. Arya--or was Jon?--had pried her away from Theon's body, long after the snow that fell on his cheeks stopped melting.

Arya placed a bowl of water beside him and handed Sansa a cloth. The water was warm from the fires. She squeezed out the excess, the sound loud in her ears, the cloth light in her hand. Time slowed and it almost felt as if it were another who gently dabbed his lips, his cheek. She cleaned the blood away, the sweat and dirt. He would look a lord when she gave him to the gods.

"He looks peaceful," Arya tried, awkward and flat, pouring water over his face. _It isn't the sea, but it is all we have._

Sansa brushed her thumb over his brow, her words blunt, "He looks dead."

Arya smirked. "He'd have laughed at that."

"Once," Sansa said, his face in her hands. "He smiled for me only once. After Ramsay..."

She felt Arya's hand on her arm. "If he hadn't stood in the way... I wouldn't have gotten there in time."

"I didn't tell him... He was our brother, a Stark son. He didn't have to die to prove it," Sansa murmured. She palmed her favorite comb, one she had found in the rubble. It had been her mother's. She drew it through his hair and remembered the times she had spied on him as a child. He was so handsome and although her mother warned against it, she admired the way he groomed so. Sansa lost herself in the motion, tangles melting away. An apology almost escaped her lips when she knew she tugged too hard.  "You could have guarded Bran."

"Let him have his pride," her sister chided, a note of respect in her tone. "I know what it is to be no one. It's easier, sometimes, to wear another's face, to play the game and say you're naught but a girl. It's another to take your name and go home. He wanted to protect Bran, and he did. Theon was always a show off, always wanted to be remembered in song and glory."

Sansa watched him, his face gentle as if in sleep. Finally, a peaceful sleep for Theon Greyjoy. He once told her he had not slept through the night since the day he took Winterfell. "You're right. The North will remember his name."

She would ensure it.

Arya poured water and Sansa brushed his hair clean. He once preened like a bird, his hair had been soft and shined almost as bright as Sansa's. The Theon who returned to her was neither the young, handsome Lord Greyjoy that was her father's ward, nor was he the hobbling creature with feces matted into his hair.  He smelled of leather and salt but his face was never so cleanly shaven as before. His eyes were so heavy, so weary. She could feel the burden he carried when he entered a room, and he looked upon her with such openness and devotion that she would give anything the gods asked of her to be looked at that way again.

“What is it they say?” Arya asked, looking down at him. “What is dead may never die.”

“What does that even mean?” Sansa complained. “Dead is dead. He’ll burn with the rest of them.”

“He told me the ironborn didn’t fear drowning. They would feast in the halls with mermaids and their Drowned God, forever. He drowned in his own blood,” Arya noted. They stood, staring at him, as his lips turned blue. “You loved him.”

Did she? She remembered the way she clung to him when he came to fight for her. He freed his sister in King’s Landing. He sailed all the way to White Harbor and rode from there to Winterfell, each hour drawing him closer to death. He did not take back his island homeland with his sister. She had longed to sneak him back to her chambers, so that she could forget Ramsay’s teeth on her skin for one night. But she had not. Their silence was comfortable, and she had choked on her fondness for him. She had wanted to believe they could have more, after. 

“I could have,” she said, wiping the tear from her cheek. “You have no idea what it was like, with Ramsay. Every night he came. He preferred to wet me with blood, before he rutted into me like one of his hounds. Theon saw everything. I thought he was too mad to help me... But he took my hand and we jumped together. I kept falling behind. I couldn’t move another step more, but he made me. When he had no sword, he tried to use his body to shield me, to lead them away. I told him, 'I won't make it without you.' He told me that I would.”

"You will." Arya stepped closer and their arms touched just so. “He taught me the bow, you know?”

Sansa looked at her. 

“After that day with father, I kept trying to practice but someone always came to run me off. One day I was watching him and he called me down. He told me my stance was terrible and he gave me the bow. His was heavy, too big for me, but he laughed at me and told me, 'you have to be strong to wield goose feather.' I asked him what he wanted, what he was planning to get out of me for it. He just said, ‘You remind me of someone. Shut up and drop your elbow.’”

Sansa laughed and Arya did, too. “He was terrible back then, but so were we. We always fought.”

“Not anymore,” Arya said evenly. “We’ll put a statue for him, in the crypts, next to Robb.”

Sansa swallowed and nodded, not trusting her words. She had kissed him just once, hidden in the shadows of the archway. For luck, she had said. He had such shock in his eyes, and he had smiled. It was a true smile, not the laughing mask he wore in their youth. She could have gotten used to seeing such a smile.

She stroked his hair and leaned down to kiss his cheek. _For luck, in the_ _next life, then._


End file.
